It’s easy to write Phury off, but he showed such courage. And continues to do so.
“How are the Chosen?” I ask.
“Fantastic.” He smiles with a kind of pride. “They’re living their own lives, although Rehv is still letting us take over mostof the bedrooms in his Great Camp. It’s been so great over the last thirty years to see them become individuals, with their own personalities, professions, interests.”
Phury was anointed as the Primale decades ago. Historically, that meant he’d be the stud for the Scribe Virgin’s special class of sacred females, but he was in love with hisshellanso there wasnoway he was having young with half a dozen prospectivemahmen. Instead, he freed them all from their lives of servitude and brought color to the Sanctuary.
It was the first crack in the Scribe Virgin’s control.
And now Lassiter is in her job.
Just as I think that, Boo the black cat, peers around the edge of the sofa. As a pair of pale green eyes stare over at me, I bow my head.
“So I’m afraid I don’t really have much to report.” Phury frowns. “I think that’s a good thing, though. Normal life is the biggest blessing of all. If you have your health, your family and friends, a safe place to rest and a full plate in front of you—what else is there in life?”
As I smile at him, he bends down and picks up the cat. He has no idea what he’s holding. He thinks it’s just a feline.
“Hollywood’s looking for you,” he says as he starts to stroke the animal who isn’t an animal.
“Oh? Is he in the—”
“He’s in the—”
“—kitchen.”
“—kitchen.”
I laugh and take a deep breath. As I let the air go, I reflect that compared to my conversation with Butch, with Fritz—undoubtedly whatever’s coming with V and Wrath—it makes sense that there was little said and all of the conversation was pleasant. They say that conflict is the root of all story, and I have no conflict with Phury. I’ve never had any. He is thevery definition of a male of worth, and it is an honor to be in his presence. So it makes sense that most of my meeting with him are my own reflections, as opposed to any back-and-forth between us.
Yet I know I could ask him anything.
And I would tell him I’m proud of him, but that seems condescending—
“Oh, it’s not.” His yellow eyes flip up to mine. “I’m proud of myself. I’ve done a lot to heal, and I’m far from where I was, in a good way. If you want to point that journey out in any fashion, I’m happy to hear those words.”
“Then let me say properly that I’m proud of you.”
He puts his hand over his heart and inclines his torso to me, and I am filled with warmth. It’s nice to know that some things work out.
“Give Cormia my best?” I tack on.
“Always.”
As Boo walks back and forth over his lap, Phury holds his broad hand with its trimmed nails at a hover so that the cat can pet itself. I get the impression that this is something they do a lot, and wonder if he’s questioned how the cat is down in town and up here.
Maybe he knows more than he lets on about what is currently arching its back and purring.
“By the way,” he says, “she’d love to knit you one of her sweaters, but she understands.”
“Yeah, hot flashes are a bitch. Better than a dirt nap, though.”
He laughs. “I’ll bet you’re right. And I’d get up to hug you, but I have a cat.”
“I totally agree. We donotdisturb the animals when they’re getting attention.”
We’re both chuckling as I turn away. I’m glad the biggest, most beautiful Brother is next on my list. I’d hate to ruin this easy buoyancy with the likes of Wrath’s intensity.
Or Vishous’s pain-in-my-assary.
